A Tale of 1001 Nights, by Boulanger
Once upon a time there was a Persian king, Shahryar, whose first wife was unfaithful to him. So, in a classic case of overreaction, and to ensure he would never again be cuckolded, Shahryar became a practitioner of serial matrimony (no illicit relationships for him when murder was an option!), ordering each new bride beheaded on the morning following their wedding night ... thus also avoiding the messiness of PMS, Peter Pan syndrome, divorce, alimony and child support ... but I digress.
After dispatching 3000 or so wives (and probably running out of virginal candidates), Shahryar wed the beautiful and intelligent proto-feminist Scheherazade. And Scheherazade, who had enhanced her education by extensively studying history and folklore, proved a seductive spinner of fantastic and wonderful (yet ethically- and morally-instructive) tales such as Aladdin and his magic lamp, Sinbad and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (whose connection to Shahryar's government is as yet undocumented but still under investigation). It is written that Scheherazade thereby changed her fate, utterly enchanting Shahryar with stories, and stories within stories, woven into a tapestry over 1001 nights, ultimately saving herself and others who would have followed her, from the previously implacable vengeance of Shahryar.
It is generally believed that after such captivating nights of spell-binding tales, Shahryar saw the error of his ways, settled down with Scheherazade and lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, recent research (and extrapolation) indicates to the discerning mind two other possible scenarios: (1) that on the morning after the 1001st night, Shahryar neglected to mention to his sycophants whether or not he had enjoyed the latest tale, or to engage in any discussion thereof, so said sycophants assumed that Scheherazade had failed to entertain the king and dragged her off to her long-delayed appointment with the scimitar; or (2) that Scheherazade, driven to despair after striving mightily to engage the king, but failing to elicit any reciprocal response(s), ran off with the more simpatico sycophant-in-chief and became a Hollywood screenwriter, currently walking picket lines in Los Angeles.
But enough speculation about matters of limited interest ... back to the blog! By now, we all should have roused from our Thanksgiving stupor in eager anticipation of the year-end festivities to come: Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice marking the "rebirth" of the sun, the dawning of a new year (Western or Asian, or both), Boxing Day ... whatever wraps your particular package ....
Winter Solstice
Chestnuts roasting, Jack Frost nipping, Yule logs burning, halls decked, eggs a-nogging, lords a-leaping ... arguably, we have arrived at the best time of year for remembrance and reconnection, for family and friends to gather close once more, for sharing memories and stories and personal thoughts and perspectives ....
Nicki and I hope that in the spirit of the season you will join us here ... that those of you who have already "spoken" will continue to do so, and those who haven't yet will add your own unique voices. Inquiring minds want to know: What do you enjoy most about this season? What are your plans for the holidays? Describe your favorite holiday tradition(s). Tell us about some special gift(s) you have given or received. We really are interested and want to hear from you.
And speaking of unique voices, Guinevere the Druid Goddess is gleefully anticipating the Winter Solstice and scurrying madly hither and yon, gathering wood for a bit of nude dancing around the celebratory bonfire. Perhaps not as thrilling a sight as it might have been once upon a time ... but we won't tell her that ....
)O(
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32 comments:
Kudos to Jennifer and her alter ego
Guinevere the Druid Goddess for once again entertaining us with her tale of Scheherazade who was one of the first all time great tellers of tales. The point has been well made that it is important to take the time to let friends know how much we appreciate efforts to not only entertain us, but to spark our memories, to transport us to another time in our lives, to reunite us with long lost friends and classmates, and most importantly to give us the opportunity to share in the spirit of reconnecting with the past not as we were, but as we are today.
For Scheherazade the art of communicating was literally a matter of life and death. Driven by a sincere desire not to lose her head she stepped up and become a gifted storyteller. I truly believe that some of us are blessed with that same gift and that is the ability to tell a story that keeps the readers coming back for more. Obviously Jennifer whether she speaks as Guinevere or herself has that gift. I would love to be able to write like she does. She and I once talked about why people write or don't write. I told her then that I truly believe she writes to entertain, though that is not the only reason. Her intellect and quick wit demand an outlet and we are so blessed to have the blog so she can write to keep us coming back for more. I also believe that Mike Spradley writes and talks to entertain. The stories he gives us are delightful and fun to read. Neither Jennifer nor Mike appears to be shy or reluctant to share, though Mike has to be prodded a bit.
Then there are those of us who write perhaps for other reasons. I told Jennifer that I am convinced that I write for myself perhaps just to hear myself or maybe to clarify my thoughts or feelings. For me blogging is just a form of journaling. I mentioned in an earlier post that it is much easier for me to write what I want to say because I can think, write, rewrite, erase, and so on. If I had been Scheherazade, I would have lost my head on the first night! I am not a good teller of tales. If you ask Jim he will assure you that I can't even tell a joke without forgetting the punch line. For me one of the main
reasons for the blog was to allow our class to reconnect and get to know each other on some level as adults--not only to share old memories but to share a bit of ourselves that give opportunities to know each other in new ways.
For me the blog has been a blessing in that I have been fortunate to make a new friend that I have come to admire. Jennifer and I were not friends in high school. Jennifer's world revolved around the Naughty Nine and my world centered around other friends and young love. Our paths did not cross. Through the blog, Jennifer, the adult, the story teller, the lover of animals, and much more has become someone that I treasure. Today I would award her a medal for going the extra mile. With a zeal that won't be denied she is pushing an pulling all of us to Las Vegas so we can spend a short weekend together as a group of people, the Childress High School Class of 1963, to once again laugh, talk, play, and reconnect for perhaps the last time. (but I hope not)
Jennifer is totally dedicated to our blog just as I am. Both of us have been told many times through email that reading the blog is something that is done every day. We are assured that some people love what we write and for this we are grateful!! However, we would love to see more of you actually speak to us on the blog. Some of you have told us that the blog is too "public", but remember, we can't get to know you if you don't tell us who you are by sharing your stories, memories, thoughts or comments in some way. The benefits could be great! You could re-establish an old friendship or you could even make a new friend.
Tis the Season
Oh mercy, dear Nicki! I am blushing to the roots of my hair (with my tan, I look a bit orange right now), and I (and Guinevere the D.G.) am almost ... ALMOST, I said ... rendered speechless (wordless?) by your comment(s). What lovely and generous things to say, and how sweet to read them! (BTW, does this mean I've got to start paying you more for the great press???)
Of course, one of MY blessings from the blog is the unalloyed gift of getting to know you, and coming to appreciate your own intellect and open mind, your good and true heart, your keen instinct and your own gift for "talking" about sometimes mundane things in such lovely ways ... AND your courage, dear friend, in putting yourself "out there", eloquently speaking your mind and heart in such a "public" forum. Perhaps it does take a kind of courage to "appear" on the blog ... or at least a Maxine-like "too old to really give a damn" devil-may-care attitude ... to crawl out on this shaky limb you and I (and some others) have come to embrace. (Which begs the question: Is it an embrace or a death grip to keep from hitting the ground??? But I digress ....)
What a boon to find a "new" BFF this late in life, after knowing (yet not "knowing") each other so many long years ago. Through circuitous e-mail routes before the blog existed, I have been blessed with new and treasured friendships with Sheila, and Clara, and Mike and Jim Sr., and others. And of course "my Nine" (and my nonpareil BFFs Linda Kay, Rae, Jobey, Pat, Lynn, Shirley and Linda Sally) stayed in at least tenuous touch through the years, before fully reuniting while our Paula was ill. Yet I believe the true "gift" of the blog is that it can (and does) reach so MANY diverse souls and personalities, each with "unique" life experiences and perspectives to share, providing a chance to those who venture here to reconnect, and to appreciate and marvel at the people we have become since we walked across the stage at the "old" CHS to receive our diplomas. Folks, I would be mightily surprised (and genuinely saddened) to learn that any of us is the "same" person we were then ... and Nicki and I fervently hope you each will find and use your voice so we may get to know YOU, as you are NOW.
Inarguably, this blog exists because of Nicki and her vision and hard work, and if not for her, any things which I may have said here which entertained or summoned memory or triggered reflection might not have been given voice. And I am pleased, flattered and more thankful than I can say that she has given me ... US ... this opportunity.
Guinevere the D.G. is fairly beside herself wanting to leave the last word, as is her wont, so cue the spectral mist, the Bodhran (Irish drum), the Celtic bones and the uilleann pipes, and ....
**********************
Winter's passage is upon us, the coldest season, the darkest midnight in December leading to the rebirth of the sun, and of life all around us! Le Beannachdan (with blessings)on the return of the sun.
"Aglow by hearth and candleflame
From burning branch or ember ...
Is there a moment quite as keen
Or memory as bright
As light and fire and music (sweet)
To warm the winter's night?"
(Adam Christianson)
"Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame.
Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart.
Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor's sake.
Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame."
(Hannah Szenes)
Sláinte, saol fada chugat (good health, long life to you)! See you 'round the bonfire!!!!
)O(
I wanna hear more from Linda Kay! Is she a HOOT or What?!!
I totally agree with Shelia. Whatever happened to Linda Kay!
Hey, I am on a roll here! Jennifer asked for a discussion of the holidays so I want to go there for a few minutes. Like everyone else, our holidays have been centered on traditions. When we married we combined traditions from both of our families and over the years we sometimes felt totally stretched too thin trying to please everyone by helping to make sure that things continued as they always had at both the homes (or dinner tables) of his family and mine. Often times it was very stressful. On one particular holiday--can't remember if it was Christmas or Thanksgiving--Jim's mother and the aunts were not feeling well and so somehow it fell to the two youngsters, Arlyna and me, to finish getting the meal together and on the table. At that point Arlyna and I made a pact that if we were ever in charge of the dinner again, we were definitely going to serve tuna fish sandwiches! Thankfully, the tuna sandwiches never have appeared at either of our dinner tables for the holidays. As I said sometimes getting to Childress or Muleshoe, or Lubbock just seemed like too much trouble, but now as I look back and everyone is gone now, I think I would give anything to do it all again just one more time.
Now, since our children have grown up, we have once again experienced a shift in traditions combining some of this and some of that from their families and their in-laws. However, Christmas tradionally is held on Christmas Eve at our house and Christmas Day with other family members. The traditional Christmas Eve meal has become a fiesta of Mexican foods which we all love along with the opening of gifts.
Perhaps my favorite tradition is my Christmas tree along with our other decorations. If you look closely you will see that I have some ornaments dating all the way back to 1965 and our first Christmas together. Since then I have added more ornaments and a collection of snowmen every year. Last year I began weeding out some that I no longer love, but for the most part the ornaments represent a very eclectic assortment of snowmen, Santas, angels, birdhouses, and more. I love each one of them and it is like greeting old friends when they are taken from the box.
I used to tell the girls that if anything happened to me before Jim, I wanted them to come to my house and get all of my ornaments out of the attic and divide them as I wouldn't want Jim's next wife to use them. It was to be their heritage from me to them. Of course, I was only kidding, but I hope that someday the ornaments will find a new home with the girls or the grandkids.
Jennifer, I know your poem has a much different tone, but it reminds me of the movie, "Like Water for Chocolate" Sorry. I do love your poem, though.
Nicki, you grab my heart! We never had a chance to get to know each other in HS, but I always liked you. Now I know why. You are kind person and have been blessed with grace, intellect....and cuteness..lol. What more could a girl want?
I am with you on going back to do it all over again just one more time. Oh what I would give! just to watch my first father in law with my two little ones decorating their fresh cut cedar Christmas tree. What would I give to drink hot chocolate on Christmas morn while breakfast was cooking..I can smell the bacon and biscuits as we speak..and watch the thrill as everyone opens their beautifully wrapped gifts, regardless of content. I would give anything to visit one more time with my mother in law who alway made Christmas magically happen.
I have found in my current life that Christmas has lost its intensity. Maybe not so much for the children who are my family, but for me. Maybe that is because I am now the realist grandma and no longer the magical storyteller(liar) of long ago. My children have their families and isnt that where one finds Christmas? I do believe that the magic of the Christmas season is for everyone, regardless of religion.
It has been a difficult journey to keep Christ in Christmas.
ok..I am done for now. My days are long, and my nights are short.
ttyl
I think I know some current day Scheherazades. LOL...they will tell you anything just to keep their heads? LOL!!
One more thing...to Jennifer. I am also collecting wood for the Fire of the Winter Solstice.
There is a group of druids who live only a few miles away from here. WE meet each year for celebration.
Okay, we have a consensus (albeit of three at this point) ... we would really like to hear more from my BFF Linda Kay, who is witty and wise and a talented writer ... but sometimes reluctant to appear. Come on, LK ... 'tis the season to share ....
Nicki and Sheila, as always your reflections and recollections strike fire and memory in my own mind, warm and glowing embers of things past ... but never extinguished. Yes, if we could have "only one more day", as Mitch Albom wrote ... one more holiday, or one more of ANY day, to have our loved ones who have gone around us once again.
We have our children and our grandchildren and yes, holidays are centered around them now, as is fitting, and a blessing for us. And of course we treasure all of our time spent with them, and hope that we are passing along to them spun-gold memories and moments, similar to those given to us. What a true gift of life, to be able to see the flowering and fruition of the next generation, and the next, and the continuity of family and tradition. And yet the thought arises unbidden ... what if? ... to have one more chance to see my grandparents' faces reflecting the lights from the tree, my mother and my father and brother around the fire, to taste my grandmother's dressing made by her own hands ... to be myself the child again, just ONCE more ... is an almost unbearably beautiful vision. So, once examined and savored, we must tuck such things things away again, in their proper place, the past ... lest poignancy become paralysis.
A few years ago, Shannon called me just before one Christmas when we would not be together, and told me I had to send her the recipe for Mamaw's dressing, since she had never made it before. And I had to tell her there was no "recipe", no written instructions as to how to proceed ... I made the dressing as my Mamaw always had ... with a bit of this and a lot of that, salt and sage and other spices ... and great love in the doing of it. And then, after we hung up, it struck me that my "advice" to her could be a metaphor for a life well-lived ... made manifest in cornbread dressing .... And I know, as a mother knows, even though I was not there ... that Shannon made the dressing just as it should be ... and just as her daughter will one day make it ... as life and love go on through eternity ....
)O(
Jennifer,
Your metaphor comparing the making of cornbread dressing to living life is wonderful. I might have to stop buying Prater's frozen dressing, which I love because it tastes like my mother's and start making my own! Well maybe not, but I certainly will always look at cornbread dressing in a different way. It really was a thoughtful comparison and I loved it.
Dear Shee-Ra: It is always so nice to see your name on the blog, and to hear your unique voice. When I first read your comment regarding the poem(s) left at the end of my earlier comment, and your comparison to "Like Water for Chocolate", my initial question was: which poem? We have since talked, and, and you indicated that lines, "Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame ..." sparked your memory of the end of that movie. Those hauntingly beautiful lines were written by Hannah Szenes, and as we talked, I thought that I might give a bit of background to other readers who may be interested in the provenance of the quote.
Hannah Szenes (or Chana Senesh) was born a Jew in Hungary in 1921. In 1939 when the situation for Jews in Europe was becoming particularly precarious, Hannah escaped to what was then the British Mandate of Palestine, and subsequently joined the Haganah, the then-underground fledgling Jewish Army. In 1943 she and others of the Haganah were recruited to join with the British armed forces to help fight the Nazis. In 1944, she parachuted into Hungary in an effort to save the Hungarian Jews who were facing deportation to the death camp at Auschwitz.
Hannah was captured by the Germans and brutally tortured (no silly Geneva Conventions for the Nazis!), but never gave up her contacts or comrades. In October 1944, she was tried by pretty much a kangaroo court (no silly rules of law for the Nazis!), but was executed by a firing squad November 7, 1944 ... before the "stacked" panel of judges even reached a verdict (refer to previous comment on silly rules of law). She was 22 years old when she died, and kept diary entries until she literally could write no more.
The poem quoted earlier never fails to move me to tears. Some of you might be interested in some of her other thoughts:
"My God, My God , I pray that these things never end,
The sand and the sea,
The rush of the waters,
The crash of the Heavens,
The prayer of Man.
The voice called, and I went.
I went, because the voice called."
And then there are these lines, found in her cell after she was executed:
"One - two - three... eight feet long
Two strides across, the rest is dark...
Life is a fleeting question mark
One - two - three... maybe another week.
Or the next month may still find me here,
But death, I feel is very near.
I could have been 23 next July
I gambled on what mattered most, the dice were cast. I lost."
L'chaim, l'hitraot, Hannah ....
"Yis'ga'dal v'yis'kadash ... may they and you have much peace, grace and kindness, and mercy and long life and plentiful nourishment ...." (The Mourner's Kaddish)
)O(
I have really enjoyed hearing about the blog, and about some of the subjects and comments. Alan will really love the poetry and the story of Hannah Szenes, and I hope he has a chance to read it soon.
Right now we are involved with Hanukkah, but later in the month I plan to travel to Dallas to help my daughter-in-law host a Christmas party, so I'll be able to enjoy the Christmas season with my sons and their families.
I haven't had a computer since I retired in March, but I intend to rectify that situation this month, and will look forward to reading the blog, and hearing more about the reunion then.
Season's greetings to everyone ....
Danger, Danger Will Robinson!
The CHS Class of ’63 In-Laws are coming!
The CHS Class of ’63 In-Laws are coming!
One if by land, two if by Sand Bar ....
As a non-Childress grad, I have gotten to know several of you. Some better than others, and I hope to meet many more of you at the Reunion. When I married Jennifer Johnston waaaay back in 1968 I had no idea what I was marrying into. I was a “City Boy” with artistic and intellectual goop just oozing from my veins. I wouldn’t say I was stuck on myself, but I liked ME an awful lot. I had no idea just what Jennifer’s world was like.
Fresh from our wedding in Colorado Springs where we had gathered her father Keith, his second wife Ruth, and six “eccentric” friends in the judge’s chambers after court in one of the more original wedding ceremonies I have ever seen, much less participated in, we were off to our overnight honeymoon in the Denver Hilton, our suitcase clanking because we ONLY brought two bottles of cheap champaign. We didn’t tell the rest of the family for several months that we were married for fear of possible negative reactions … and, for inquiring minds, our first child was not born until five years later.
Soooo, my first trip to Childress was a tsunami of culture shock crashing down on my innocent little “City Boy” head. I had never been around any “real" cowboys and the Urban type were nearly a decade in the future. When we went over to Hollis the first time and I saw the good-old-boys out there doing the stiff-arm two step in the tightest jeans known to humankind and wearing their ever so carefully weather-beaten Stetsons, I couldn’t have felt any more out of my element if I’d just beamed down from the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. Ah, the venerable “Sand Bar” where men were men or they bashed in your head with a pool cue if you weren’t.
Jennifer couldn’t wait to introduce me around and that’s where some of us first met. I’ve heard from some of you what a stuck-up jerk I appeared to be. Believe me I was just scared of people that I thought I shared little or no common ground with. As time passed over the next several decades, most of us figured out that we actually did have quite a lot in common.
I still tell tales of Tuffy Maddox, the semi-literate sheriff, the one movie theater in town run by someone mysteriously called “Fat Eye”, and of course the ever festive Childress Country Club where, as I sat minding my own business waiting for Jennifer, an attractive blonde woman very aggressively put the moves on little old MOI. I mean, I was flattered but my wife was on her way there and she always gets so peevish when I have “relations” with total strangers in her home town. The lady left for a trip to the powder room and I signaled the bartender. “Ís it just my imagination or is this lady coming on to me?”
“Oh you’re not imagining it,” he assured me. “It goes on all the time out here. That’s her husband down at the other end of the bar all over the drunken brunette.” I don’t think I have ever been as glad to see Jennifer arrive anywhere in all our years together.
So you see, while I certainly am that crazy artist guy that Jennifer married , we’ve all got a lot of common dirt, err … ground, to share. I look forward to reading your reminiscences and thoughts. Like they used to say in the cigarette ads “We’ve come a long way, Baby.”
At sundown tonight, the first of eight Hanukkah (Chanukah) candles was lit by the shamash, the kindling candle, with the ritual blessings. Another candle will be lit, with blessings, on each night thereafter, until all eight are glowing brightly in the Jewish home.
Briefly, Hanukkah commemorates the victory of the Maccabees over Antiochus IV and the rededication of the Jewish temple in Jerusalem after its defilement and destruction. The "miracle" of Hanukkah is that although the Maccabees only found one day's supply of consecrated oil to keep the cleansing eternal flame, the oil actually lasted for eight days, until another supply of olive oil could be made and consecrated. In part, the holiday symbolizes the endurance and continuity of the Jewish people.
The hanukkiyah (chanukiyah) is central in the celebration of Hanukkah. Unlike the seven-branched menorah most associated with Judaism, a hanukkiyah has eight branches (generally four on either side of the central shamash, which is not counted as a Hanukkah candle), symbolizing the seven days of creation, with the eighth candle representing infinity. The number eight has special significance throughout Jewish lore and theology.
Hanukkah begins on a different date every year, in accordance with the Jewish calendar; thus this Hanukkah is celebrated in the year 5768. Although frequently (as well as questionably and oxymoronically) referred to as the "Jewish Christmas", Hanukkah is actually a minor Jewish festival, and not of the importance of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Passover, Sukkot and others. Traditionally, small gifts ("gelt" ... actual coins or chocolate "coins" covered in gold foil) are given each of the eight nights of the holiday. It is lamented in some quarters that Hanukkah, like Christmas, has become more commercial over the past few decades, with expensive gifts becoming more and more prevalent, detracting from the spirit and meaning of the celebration.
This is only one of the traditional holidays observed by diverse peoples and religions, at the end of the year of the common Gregorian calendar. I thought perhaps some of you might be interested in hearing (at least superficially) about it.
And, as always, we are really interested in your thoughts and stories about your holiday rituals and traditions, whether religious, secular, specific to your own family ... or whatever kindles your flame in this season ....
)O(
Yahn,
I can only imagine the extent of the culture shock that you had to endure on your first trip to Childress; for that matter I suspect that there are still elements of "shock and awe" just thinking about it! It was so good of you to drop by to give us your version of life with with Jennifer. I would be surprised to learn that either of you have ever had a boring moment. Please come back and tell us more.
It’s been a rough week and a half for me. I fell ill on Thanksgiving (the nature of the illness doesn’t matter—let’s just say it was “age-related”), and it wasn’t until yesterday that the doc and I agreed that I was out of the proverbial woods. But, as I’ve learned throughout my life, there’s a boon in every setback; and the boon of illness is that one has a chance to get caught up on one’s reading and reflection. And a gratifying aspect of my recent reading has been catching up on this wonderful blog. There aren’t kudos enough to compensate Nicki for her effort in establishing and maintaining this forum, nor for Jennifer and all the others who have contributed posts and comments that have enabled classmates (and we “auxiliary” types like myself, Yahn Smith, Mike and Jim Spradley, et al) to share in all the recollections and revelations that have appeared in this blog.
In her initial comment, Nicki discusses some of the reasons that we write; and she suggests that Jennifer and Mike Spradley write to entertain while she (Nicki) writes primarily “to hear myself or maybe clarify my thoughts or feelings.” Although I have written for both reasons throughout the years, I have come to believe that even the writing which is aimed primarily at entertaining also serves to clarify one’s own thoughts as well as to enable one to make discoveries about oneself (and others, and about life) through the very process of writing.
Another thing to which I’ve learned to give credence is what I call “meaningful coincidences.” The great psychiatrist C. G. Jung calls such things “synchronicities,” and he places great stock in them, although he never overtly defines what they are. It took Arthur Koestler to do that, although he doesn’t actually use Jung’s term (or mine). These are events which Koestler describes as follows:
There exists a type of phenomenon, even more mysterious than telepathy or precognition, which has puzzled man since the dawn of mythology: the seemingly accidental meeting of two unrelated causal chains in a coincidental event which appears both highly improbable and highly significant.
I have noted various meaningful coincidences/synchronicities during my recent reading, which includes my reading of this blog. First of all, and apropos of what Nicki said about her reasons for writing, Ron Hansen ends the introduction to one of his essays in his collection A Stay Against Confusion (which I finished reading on 2 December) with this statement: “And because I do not know what I think until I see what I say, I wrote this meditation.” I recognized this statement as an allusion to a comment the great novelist E. M. Forster had previously made when the subject of logic was brought up. “Logic!” he exclaimed. “Good gracious! What rubbish! How can I know what I think till I see what I say?” (I believe this is a fair paraphrase of Nicki’s stated reason for why she writes.)
From this observation, I recalled that Forster had also written the following in his novel Howard’s End: “Only connect. . . . Only connect the prose and the passion and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer.” Forster also used “Only connect . . .” as the epigraph to his novel, and I’m sure that most if not all of you will recall that Jennifer likewise ended one of her posts or comments with these two words. This, I think, sums up what is being attempted in this blog — to reestablish the linkages between all those whose common history began in Childress, TX, more than four decades ago. A history is, after all, a kind of story; and, coincidentally again, Forster has also written, “We are all like Scheherazade’s husband, in that we want to know what happens next.”
While I was ill, I read another book by the great psychiatrist and educator Robert Coles. The book was entitled The Call of Stories, and in it Coles stresses the importance of story-telling as one of the most valuable means by which we might “view the world and . . . understand the truth of our lives.” Story-telling lifts our understanding of life out of the realm of concepts and abstractions and places it where it actually occurs — in the realm of human experiences, emotions, and hopes and dreams.
I’m reminded of another story, one set in ancient Egypt, which I will tell as briefly as I can: Osiris was ruler of the land, and Isis was his wife. Osiris also had a brother named Set who was very jealous and who eventually killed Osiris, cut his body into pieces, and scattered the parts throughout the land. Isis then had to set out across Egypt, looking for all the parts of her husband. After a long, arduous search, Isis reassembled the members of Osiris’s body, wrapped him in bandages, and breathed life back into him. In a manner of speaking, we could say that Isis’ act of “re-membering” restored what otherwise would have been lost to memory forever.
Your stories need to be remembered as well, and they need to be told in order to rescue them from the erosion of passing time. I assure you that everyone wants to hear them. This is the plea made made by both Jennifer in her Scheherazade post and Nicki in her November 29 comment above. In her novel Middlemarch, George Eliot (nee Mary Ann Evans) asks the question, “Who can quit young lives after being long in company with them, and not desire to know what befell them in their after-years?” You all were “long in company” with each other when you were young, and I’m sure all of you would like to gather up the fragments of your lives which have been dispersed over so many years and re-member and re-connect them into the unique story of the Class of 1963.
I am thrilled to have my own dear Yahn join us here in blogland ... although of course he has been reading for some time, not unlike some others .... As you may have gathered, Yahn has his own distinctive voice, a wonderful wit, a unique perspective, and he is a fabulous teller of tales. I know he is looking forward to commenting on Darryl's story of Osiris and Isis ... and Horus, their son (the "Egyptian Trinity"), a subject dear to Yahn's (and my) heart. ("Re-membered" indeed, Darryl! Snarf!)
Nicki, as to your comment about boring moments ... before we married, Yahn asked me to "promise" that I would never bore him. Of course I (always the egalitarian) required a concomitant commitment ... and we have done our best to live up to those vows. We have LOTS more stories .... Too late for second thoughts about encouraging us ... these twin jinns have popped the cork and flown the bottle ....
Darryl has again gifted us with his thoughtful observations and trenchant insights. His talent for the "mot juste", his encyclopedic knowledge and recall of literature, "po'try", philosophy and other non-fictional writings and theories, his ability to challenge us to "Thimk" (with a nod to Mad magazine), and his own critical analyses ... along with the thought that he probably has a red grading pen somewhere close to hand ... truly act as a catalyst and a spur for many of our efforts here. Welcome back, sensei ....
Finally, I want to let all of you know that our little Noah has improved so very much. It seems he is no longer bothered by nightmares, or at least not many, and he is as sweet and loving and special as he was before his ordeal. His fur is still growing out (and will be for some time), so we have bought him a couple of little argyle sweaters to keep him warm. Yahn says all he needs now is a pipe ... and maybe a deerstalker hat .... I so thank all of you who expressed concern and sympathy, and who sent good thoughts to help his healing ....
)O(
Jennifer and I have never been big fans of doing the conventional thing. We were actually introduced by a mutual friend on February 15 (the day AFTER Valentine's Day), 1967 in Colorado Springs. I can still remember the horizontally striped dress Jennifer was wearing as she entered the room and I turned to my bud Reggie to say, "Hey, hey, hey, we got a bombshell amongst us." If that sounds a little Ralph Cramdenish, I blame the horizontal stripes on that dress, and the emphasis on ... never mind .... I was considered sort of the resident "intellectual" of my group, a role I greatly enjoyed if not actually deserved. When Jennifer joined our table, I was holding forth on my favorite subject du jour, Ayn Rand. I was at the time naively convinced that her novels and philosophy contained all the answers to all of the world's problems. My world view has expanded considerably since then, but I plead that I was only twenty years old (and yes, I've got an excuse for almost every mistake I've ever made).
I had just made some gravely important pronouncement based on Ms. Rand's writing when this sweet little voice (Jennifer), from across the table said, "No, what Ayn Rand ACTUALLY said was..." and she proceeded to correct the expert in front of his court. What was worse, I knew that while I am NEVER wrong ... just sometimes a little LESS RIGHT ... she really was correct! Damn her infernal memory! The next day I discovered that her favorite TV shows were Star Trek and The Avengers. Enough was enough and I absolutely could stand it no longer. I proposed to her on the second day we had known each other. When you're right, you're right.
I was really interested in Darryl's comments about Egypt and its gods. If you follow one Osiran legend (there's more than one version), after Set, Osiris's brother, defeated him in battle and cut him up into pieces before scattering them as far and wide as was possible, the one part that Isis, Osiris's wife, couldn't find was his...er... well... his "manhood". But the ever industrious Isis fashioned a... well... a substitute ... from the Nile mud which she used to... well... you know ... and thus basically gave birth to their son Horus ... not to mention Darryl's "Re-membered" comment. Not exactly an "immaculate" conception, but no wonder Isis was considered a fertility goddess.
Jennifer and I have always shared an intense interest in history, ancient Egypt being a special fascination for me. I have always loved both ancient Egyptian and Asian art. A couple of years ago I had the good luck to meet a Chinese scholar named Victor Choi in one of his antique shops, Dragon Culture, on Hollywood Road in Hong Kong (his other shop is in New York). I was amazed at one particular piece of ancient Chinese sculpture and I commented that the piece was almost a duplicate of the memorial statues of Ramses II in his cenotaph at Abu Simbel in southern Egypt. Victor stepped forward and explained that he was currently researching a scholarly text establishing a direct connection between ancient Egyptian culture and ancient Chinese culture. In his opinion there was a real link in the art styles. I googled Victor after we returned home and discovered him to be a leading authority on Chinese art. I look forward to his book ... and you now know why if you enter our home, you'll find it filled with Egyptian and Chinese art, all mixed together.
Yahn, you are certainly one of the most entertaining, enlightening and intriguing people in my life. I wish you had been in our class in HS when we did "Point of View". You would have certainly prodded our intellect, pushed on some balloons, shed some light, opened some windows, or maybe even been run out of town for being such a forward thinker.
For me, you speak of Babylon. How can Babylon be so bad if that is all you know. I never dreamed to question Fat Eye's name, but I did question why he wore a patch. Funny, his name never penetrated my brain as being strange. I figured that every theatre owner was named Fat Eye. I will remember forever how concerned he was about me when I just had to go watch War of the Worlds with my uncle. AS you know, the movie was scary as HELL and way to scary for a small child...maybe 2nd grader. I had to wait in the lobby because I couldn't stand to watch the end of the movie. Fat Eye stayed with me and reassured me that it was just a movie and not really something that was going to happen...and that for sure I was going to be safe. He was very good at hiding his compassion.
Tuffy Maddox was a person of awe for young people. We knew he would be there if we broke the law, and we knew he would be there if we needed him Same for Gary Hassell's dad.
AS for the cowboys in those tight fittin dusty wrangler/levi's,boots and Stetsons...God how I miss' em. All I can say is that they were real and they existed in Childress.
For me, at this time in my life, you have painted a beautiful, colorful picture of my childhood. I would love to hear more from you. One never sees what beauty they have until an outsider comes and points it out to them.
thanks.
Yahn, I really enjoyed the tale of your first visit to Childress and the Country Club. Reminds me of a temporary adjuster, Chris O`Keefe, from Atlantic City, who worked for me 2 consecutive summers in Childress. Everyone loved him and he loved all of our Childress friends.
Example: the 1st summer there, he had flown to Dallas from Atlantic City, then GAB rented him a car, and he drove from Dallas to Childress. When he arrived in Childress and came to the office and introduced himself, he told me everyone he met on the highway seemed to know him, as they all waved at him when they passed. I explained to him that was simply a Texas trait.
One time I took him down to Clarencie`s bank, 1st State, and introduced him to Buddy Cordell. He told Buddy he must be "Slim Eye" as he had already met his brother "Fat Eye." This went on for 2 summers and included a cross being burned in my front yard, when we lived across the street from Jimmy and Jerry Gay, on Ave. M. It was strictly done as a joke on a Yankee, who was also a chemistry teacher at the Atlantic City High School.
Several years after we moved to Lubbock, in 1960, Lornadee and I drove to Atlantic City and spent a week with Chris and his parents. We went each night to all of the Miss America events until a winner was announced on Saturday night. Can`t remember who won, just know it wasn`t Miss Texas. Had a big time and learned some Yankees can offer hospitality as well as Southerners.
I must comment again (I hear some of you groaning) about Darryl's comment, and Yahn's latest, and ....
Yahn's story of how we met might not have happened to be told if I had not been "turned on" to Ayn Rand in high school by ... drum roll ... Darryl Morris!!! Sometime during our junior year, Darryl loaned me his copy of Rand's "Anthem" ... just around 100 pages, edited down from her original draft of about 1200 pages ... which should tell you something about Rand and her writings! "Anthem" was my first exposure to Randian thought, and that book in turn led me to other fiction by Rand ... "We the Living", "The Fountainhead" and the sine qua non, the indispensible "Atlas Shrugged". (Once when I came home from college for a weekend visit, I was riding around with "Uncle Don" Holman, CHS '62, and asked him to get my cigarettes out of my cavernous purse, while I drove. He fished around for a while, pulled out a large paperback book, widened his eyes and said incredulously: "'Atlas Shrugged'? NOBODY carries a copy of 'Atlas Shrugged'!" I was probably on my sixth or seventh reading of it at that juncture ... but I digress ....)
Rand's fiction led me to explore her heavily philosophical and/or theoretical tomes ... and thus, I was PREPARED on that fateful day when I met the man who would become my other half and literal soul mate. Which proves (again) that you never know when something you picked up in high school will prove useful ....
As Yahn noted, experience and acquired knowledge eventually consign Rand's postulations to a much less rigid and unyielding status than she herself would approve or choose. However, I have thought for some time that all PURE philosophies sooner or later become untenable in their PURE state, and are only useful when we are able to extrapolate the "good stuff" and combine it with other philosophical ideas and our own intelligence and life lessons.
Darryl's discussion of E.M. Forster also reminded me of other Forster musings, but two are especially apropos. First: "I suggest that the only books that influence us are those for which we are ready, and which have gone a little farther down our own particular path than we have yet got ourselves." And then: “What is wonderful about great literature is that it transforms the man who reads it towards the condition of the man who wrote.”
I've recently "discovered" (with a figurative road sign) "Pharsalia", an epic poem by Lucan (Marcus Annaeus Lucanus), who wrote and died (at age 25, after being ordered to commit suicide) during the reign of Nero, in the, long dreadful decline of the Roman Empire. Not only are Lucan's words ... his imagery ... staggering, beautifully crafted and judiciously used, but some parts of the poem seem to be eerily, terribly prescient:
"... savage Pyrrhus nor the Punic horde
E'er caused such havoc [to Rome]: to no foe was given
To strike thus deep; but civil strife alone
Dealt the fell wound and left the death behind.
"Beneath too heavy a burden great the fall ...
So when that hour,
The last in all the centuries, shall sound
The world's disruption, all things shall revert
To that primeval chaos, stars on stars
Shall crash, and fiery meteors from the sky
Plunge in the ocean ....
... and discord huge
Shall rend the spheres asunder."
Such power and caution in those words! And yet, there is healing power and strength right here, in the words and diverse personalities of the blog ... the power generated by the exchange of ideas, mutual respect for the "different" or unusual thought ... the power to "only [ONLY?] connect" with old (now "new") friends in our present, evolved states ... and to leave in this place, in the ether, for as long as it lasts, our "collective" knowledge and "footprint" on this life, this world. And perhaps, one day ... even today! ... what we have written here, will inspire others in their own metamorphosis and journey. I would like to think so ....
)O(
It’s always something of an embarrassment when an enthusiasm of one’s youth returns like Marley’s ghost (A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens) to remind one of the “naïve certainties” he embraced decades ago. Yes, I was once a dedicated disciple of Ayn Rand and her philosophy of Objectivism; and, to a certain extent I remain so in the sense that I still believe in the possibility of heroic individualism; and I still resent a central government which seems to have forgotten that it exists for the protection of the life and property of its citizens, rather than the citizens existing to support the government’s own aggrandizement. However, other aspects of Rand’s philosophy are doomed to failure in that they are dependent upon interactions between citizens whose activities are determined at all times by enlightenment and reason—and we know how that goes, don’t we?
Nowadays, when friends ask me if they should read Atlas Shrugged, I tell them that it’s enough to read the first line of the book (“Who is John Galt?”) and then skip to Part III and read the 67 pages of Chapter VII, “This is John Galt Speaking.” In this way, they’ll get all they need to know without having to wade through all 1,084 pages of the book.
Still, Rand did make me think, and I’m grateful for that.
Ah Darryl, were it that Objectivism was my ONLY youthfully naive idea. I didn't just want to be LIKE Howard Roark .. I wanted to BE Howard Roark. Frank Lloyd Wright had been my boyhood hero and "The Fountainhead" blew me away completely. I think that was what actually led to my disillusionment with Ayn Rand. You may find this hard to believe, but I am actually NOT a perfect human being. No matter how hard I tried, I always seemed to somehow fall short of the ideal. I've come to think that any philosophical or political goal that depends on changing basic human nature is doomed to failure. That's why all the extremes fighting for control today seem to repel me in my... oh, how to put it ... advanced maturity.
I so wish that everyone had the opportunity to travel and experience other cultures. It is such a humbling experience. I don't know if you knew Jennifer's Uncle Lee Harp (her grandfather's brother) or his son Andy Lee Harp. They owned the Harp Drug store on Main Street. We were visiting Childress once and went by to see Andy Lee. I don't remember where we were about to take off for... Egypt or China or someplace like that... and I asked Andy Lee if he didn't want to travel, at least a little bit.
"Oh, no," he explained. "I have everything I want right here in Childress. Every couple of years we go to Amarillo or Wichita Falls and that's enough travel for us."
After I got my jaw back in place, I didn't know what to say to the man. I know it takes all kinds of people to make a world and I certainly didn't dislike him because of his ideas. I really just felt sorry for him. I know he was perfectly happy and I would never have told him that I felt sorry for him, but I can not understand that lack of curiosity about the world.
One of my regrets is that after my retirement from 23 years of teaching at the Art Institutes, I received an invitation to teach retail package design and commercial graphics in seminars throughout mainland China's university system. The offer included all travel and living expenses for Jennifer and I for as long as I wanted to continue. Unfortunately, my health began to fail at about the same time. Since most of my health problems are respiratory and Hong Kong's pollution had nearly killed me just a year before, I knew I could not tolerate long periods of time in Beijing or Shanghai. Ah, but the adventure of it.
I guess that's why I decided to settle down here in the very seat of American culture and values, Las Vegas.
December 7, 2007 11:51 PM
Gotta tell you how much I enjoyed your S story. AB-FAB!, dear friend. Do you read ALL the time? And, you must retain every syllable you look at. I know your brain power and am still amazed at the breadth of your gig storage. Beautiful poetry, original and not. However, S. has nothing on G. the D. G.
Good comments from all, and good to hear from Yahn!
I’m absolutely exhausted from reading the post on LV arrangements. Jeez, I wouldn’t think 2 years in our ages would make that much difference in energy level. Gotta hand it to you and Nick, you’ve got more get-up than I do.
Linda Kay, I agree with you, S. has nothing on our own G the DG. I say this with firm conviction even though I probably never read any of Scheherazade's stories. Given her situation, I doubt seriously that she would have taken a chance on presenting a sense of humor, which our G the DG seems to revel to the fullest...then waits to see if you were really listening.
Darryl, I am sorry that you fell ill. I am hoping and praying that it is a temporary thing and that it will not prevent your continuing to be a part of our interchange here. I also want to comment about why people write. It has been my feeling for a very long time that the reason Internet communication is so popular is because people have a need to see what they say before they know what they think. My favorite button on my keyboard is delete. Many times I am so glad that I have the opportunity to see what I am saying before I actually open my mouth!
Yahn, keep them stories coming!
Jim Spradley, some little bird told me that you were going to tell us a tale about FatEye. I can hardly wait.
Earlier, we spoke of Holiday traditions. If we have one that holds on thru the years, it is listening to the Messiah. My children were all fascinated that Handel wrote the whole score in 30 days, using only words from the
Bible. He was one inspired man! I get a charge seeing the awe in children's eyes when I tell them the story of Handel. Other than listening to the Messiah, drinking hot chocolate and going to midnight Mass, we share a pretty simple Christmas.
Ah dear soul sisters, Linda Kay and Sheila. You make a young goddess (in goddess years, of course!) blush! Cead mile failte (a thousand welcomes), as ever. Of course a place awaits you at the Bonfire!
Sheila, luv, now tell me more about this stash of wood you've been gathering for the Solstice. Big enough for all to dance 'round, is it? LK and Wayne bring the wine, Shee-Ra the pipes, Yahn the Bodhran, Jennifer the kindling and matches ... G. the D.G. calls all fine Celtic males with killer eyes and worthy aspiring Druid goddesses!!! We'll dance the until the fire is reduced to ashes in the dawn. Word to the wise: If you smear yourselves with bear fat before the dancing starts,it won't be nearly so cold!!! Slainte.
)O(
LK and Sheila, Scheherazade (a close, personal friend and an honorary Druid) is delighted that you enjoyed her own personal story. She looks forward to telling you many more ....
Thanks to both of you for dropping by to comment ... and thank you much for the lovely thoughts.
BTW, I have recommended to S. and D. the DG., LK and Shee-Ra, and Wayne and Yahn and all fine frolicking Celts, a bit of wisdom borrowed from the great Coco Chanel: When you are all dressed for the evening ... take off the last item you put on ... and then the one before that ... and then the one before that ....
Erin go bra-less?!? Snarf!
)O(
What I’ve Learned ...
I don’t think either of my brain cells is equal to the discussions on this blog. Being one of those people who only read the Ayn Rand that was forced upon us in class, I’ll have to skip that part. I’ve long since escaped the romanticism and idealism that most youth have to suffer through before they get to the real world and real people.
But, if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s to be willing to listen to another’s point of view and not to think for a minute I know something others don’t. Education comes from many sources. It was amazing how smart my parents came to be by the time I reached the age of 25.
My parents never cared what happened outside the city limits of Childress, really, they were too busy making a living. My Dad had survived the Battle of the Bulge and the Korean conflict, so he was just glad to be home, thank you very much. My Mother was never a homemaker. Although she was Valedictorian of her CHS class, her father (who rode a horse to Tarleton State) thought at 16 she was too young to leave home for college, so she went to work. The common folk of my parents’ generation lived through the Great Depression and WWII — they, and all of your parents, were part of what Tom Brokaw calls The Greatest Generation. They taught me things they didn’t know they were teaching, and they did it by example: honesty, kindness, tolerance, responsibility, perseverance, and to be hopeful and grateful.
Our little group of nine childhood friends taught me how to be a friend. And let me tell you, a group of 12-year old girls can show you the ropes on how to belong to the “circle”. This is where the phrase “zero tolerance” must have been coined. We had no problem speaking our minds to each other. Some of us had been friends since first grade.
Remember when, as small children, we could walk across town and our parents never feared for our safety? Does “American Graffiti” remind you of Childress?
Remember the 1961 film “Splendor in the Grass”? The title is from a line of William Wordsworth's poem, "Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood":
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind...
Strength. My life began when I married Wayne, but I didn’t become a real person until our son Greg was born. He taught me how to be a mom, and his three girls have taught me how to be a grandmother. If I had known grandchildren were going to be so much fun, I’d have had them first. I’m also blessed with four step-children (my “bonus” kids) and their eight children who are beautiful and bright.
Many memories, good and bad, of high school come flooding back, too many to tell here, but ‘tis the season to remember and be grateful. I’m grateful for all of you, my classmates, and our common history that began in Childress.
I hope to see you in Vegas in October.
Jennifer, I have been looking online for a good source for Bear Fat and to no avail. Do I have to kill a bear first and render the fat?
Hey Shee-Ra ... I can get it for you wholesale!!!! Unless of course you'd rather kill the bear and render the fat ....
BTW, Jim Sr. had some computer problems recently, but says he will publish the Fat Eye Cordell story soon. So hang in there for it ....
LK, your comment is so good and thoughtful, as ever ... always such a pleasure to hear your "voice". Don't stay away too long ....
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